Thing 2: So, it’s akin to the bikini bottoms* we see a lot of girls wearing at the beach?

Thing 1: Pretty much. It’s definitely not a thong.

*In which the essential parts, but not the full behind is covered. So, you know, floozy-looking, but probably won’t get you arrested for solicitation. This metaphor can be applied as a standard for pretty much everything in life.

I remember, years ago, overhearing a couple of my cousins saying, You’ll never be as skinny as you are at your wedding.
I like to know what they were on, because I am three months out from my wedding, I am stress eating like a motherfucker, and I’m pretty sure they’re going to have to change my name on my wedding invitation to large Marge. You could fit two skinny brides in my wedding dress.

Bitches. Not my cousins, I love them, just the people who are skinny at their weddings.

It would be way too bridezilla of me to demand that all the guests gain 40 pounds before October, right? I’ve heard of insane brides demanding that her wedding party ladies go on a cleanse, so this would be the same thing just opposite… right?

B: Probably the ones in which punishment for petty theft is getting your hand cut off, or if a man is convicted of a crime, part of his sentence is the gang rape of his daughter, barbaric things like that…

A: Makes sense.

B: Then again, certain cultural practices in our own country are very foreign to me, like the idea of purity balls and pledging to ones parents to maintain virginity.

A: Or the Kardashians.

B: Yes, that too.

A: Did you hear about the Kardashian’s episode —

B: (disdainful stare)

A: Yes, not a good way to start a sentence… where the sisters smelled one another’s lady parts?

I am becoming increasingly convinced that there’s some sort of tiny rodent inside my brain that eats away pieces of it, because I am forgetting pieces of things all the time.

I don’t know if it’s anxiety or ADD or fibro fog or just plain getting old and senile, but my short-term memory is increasingly turning to Swiss cheese. Like I’ll unlock my phone to make a call, and in that seven seconds, I’ll forget who I wanted to call.

Or have you ever walked into a bathroom and started fussing with your hair in the mirror, and then you leave and a few minutes later you’re like,”I feel like I’m forgetting about something…” So you go through everything you’re supposed to be doing in your head, and you frantically check your calendar to make sure you’re not missing an appointment or something, and then you’ll realize, “SHIT! That’s it! I forgot to pee.”

Like earlier, I had this great thought about a question that needed to be posed to the world:

What is creepier? Men who say ‘panties’ or women who…

AND I CAN’T REMEMBER WHAT THE MOTHER FRICK-AND-FRACK IT WAS THAT CREEPY WOMEN DO!

I mean, there are plenty of things that creepy women do. I’m sure they also occasionally do non-creepy things as well, but this was a specific creepy thing that women do. Not all women, and I’m sure there are some women who do it who wouldn’t be generally qualified as creepy, but it’s common enough and creepy enough that it begs the question–

DO YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT?!?! WHAT IS THAT THING?!?!

See, this is what I mean. The little rodent in my brain chews holes in it, and then my thoughts or intentions slip through the holes, and then we’re all deprived of what I’m sure would be a fairly fascinating conversation.

Okay, help me out, y’all. What is some creepy shit that women do, comparative creepy level to men who say “panties”? I don’t think it was desperate-creepy, like asking about your credit score on the second date…

I’m half-thinking maybe it was about women who insist on saying “vulva” in colloquial situations, because “it’s different from the vagina,” but that’s more pedantic than creepy, and that’s a post all on its own. So pretty sure it’s not about vulvas.

In fact, I’m about 58 percent sure it’s not something crotch-related at all. So that narrows it down for you.

There are a lot of things I like about freelance writing, mostly the flexible schedule and the ability to do it in my underwear, but there’s one thing I really, really, really hate:

Pitching.

Pitching is The Worst, in title case. It’s not just the fact that you have to have the right idea and the right style, it’s that you have to tell the right person all about your right idea and right style in the right way.

So you spend your time crafting the perfect pitch, and then nine times out of 10, IF an editor gets back to you at all, the response is “thanks, but I’ll pass on this one.” I get it. Tons of pitches come in. An editor doesn’t have time to reply to everyone in detail.

But you know who else isn’t mired in time? People who are pitching stories. Which brings us to the right etiquette: I’ve heard editors say they would never run a story or work with a writer who pitches multiple outlets at once.

When I’ve applied for jobs, I don’t wait until one company rejects me before I send my resume to another. I’m in a long-term relationship, but when people are dating, or whatever people do in the Tinder/Match/rightswipe age, they don’t wait until one potential connection fails miserably before texting the next one, do they?

I don’t think I could take trying to date on top of everything else. It would be like trying to pitch my vagina.

Pretty sure this is a more a statement about your taste in romantic partners than it is one about the greatness of your dog. And more likely a statement on you as a romantic partner. To be fair, all of your former partners probably thought your dog was the best part of the deal as well.

I don’t get these dog people. Not dog-people as in half person, half dog, people who think their dogs are EVERYTHING. Like, the greatest thing since that machine that slices an entire loaf of bread AT ONCE.

And don’t say “unconditional love.” Unconditional love doesn’t gouge your furniture and sniff your crotch without permission. When men do that, we call it sexual harassment.

Also, I can’t decide if a dog-person would be cool or SCARY AS ALL GET OUT.

This dude makes me want to have a dinner party, because the idea of serving guests an entrée that stares them down is highly amusing to me.

Adventure the Second: My Two Cents, Literally

Dear Whole Foods:

Two cents off does not a last chance clearance price make. I would humbly suggest that everyone who enters your store donate the two cents saved on that LAST CHANCE! clearance sale to hire a math tutor for whoever does your pricing.

Adventure the Third: Coconuts for You

If you’ve ever seen this Coco Libre sparkling organic coconut water from concentrate and thought, “wow, that sounds disgusting,” you would be correct. Not possessing your power of clairvoyance, I can tell you that this particular product tastes as though a lemon had sex with a coconut, then they stuck the used condom in a can and poured some fizzy water over it.

Final Score:

You – 1
Me – 0
Whole Foods – negative 2, because that two cents off thing is really inexcusable

Loser: The red snapper, because at least the rest of us are alive and not about to served up at someone’s dinner party.